A Question Of Honor. Mary Anne Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ she’d ever known, she carried the knowledge that she was about to make a decision that would affect the rest of her life.

      She moved unnoticed along the snowy sidewalk. She’d deliberately changed her appearance and was relieved that it seemed to have worked. Gone were the sleek designer clothes, her usual calf-high leather boots and the expensive shoulder bags she habitually carried.

      She’d never been fond of her diminutive size—five feet two inches and barely one hundred pounds—but now she thought it might work in her favor and that it gave new meaning to the expression “staying under the radar.”

      Gone were the makeup, the leather gloves and diamond studs she always wore, a gift from her father when she graduated from college. Plain and simple had been her goal. She was plain and simple right then as she neared the front of her family’s historic town house. The reporters that had dogged her every step for the past four months were clustered outside the high wrought-iron gates, and she knew this would be the real test

      The “new” Faith was hunched into the wind, her chin tucked into the fleece collar of her definitely unstylish wool parka. Slim jeans were little protection against the biting cold and wind-driven snow, but her chunky boots took the slippery street with ease. A dark watch cap was pulled low on her head, almost covering her ebony hair, transformed from long, sleek locks to a cap of crazy curls that didn’t even touch the collar of her jacket.

      She didn’t slow as she got to the group of reporters and the nearby protesters. She didn’t look at the house or the six-foot tall gates. Instead, she kept going, muttering, “Excuse me,” over and over again as she made her way through the crowd.

      Suddenly, she felt something hit her shoulder and she turned, coming face-to-face with one of the protesters, a woman who held a sign that read Greed Is a Four-Letter Word. Faith thought it best not to say anything and picked up her pace. She was almost at the corner. Behind her the woman screamed, “Death to corporate greed!”

      The security guard hired by her father was keeping an eye on the crowd. He spotted her but gave no indication that he recognized her, yet he’d seen her every day for the past month. She let out a long sigh.

      She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been about doing this until that moment, and now, surprisingly, she felt vaguely faint. The feeling fled when she turned the corner onto the side street that ran along the extensive property where the hundred-year-old house stood.

      She walked purposefully, nearing a narrow gate that fit snugly into the fence and led to an arch cut in the brick wall of the garage, a converted carriage house. She kept going but chanced a look back, noticing her boot impressions in the snow. No one was there. In one fluid motion, she reversed directions and retraced her steps to the gate. She quickly put in a security code on a pad, and the gate clicked, then slowly swung open.

      She went through and carefully closed the gate so that it wouldn’t make any noise. She heard the lock reset with a soft humming sound, and then she turned to hurry across the snow-shrouded terrace. Ignoring a set of French doors that led to the formal dining room, she approached a single oak door almost out of sight at the top of two cement steps.

      Another keypad surrendered to her code, and she stepped inside, into the almost total darkness of the utility room where deliveries were made. She didn’t need to turn on any lights because she knew the space by heart. Quietly, she moved through the kitchen to the back stairs that led to the upper floors. There was her bedroom, but she sidestepped it and went directly to her favorite room, the library.

      She loved the dark wood paneling, the bookshelves soaring to the ceiling. A huge bay window overlooked the front gardens and the gates that blocked the main entrance to the property. Just being on the inside made her feel safer. When she was a child, she would curl up in one of the rich leather chairs by her father’s massive antique desk and read while he worked.

      This was the only home she’d ever known, and her chest tightened as the thought flashed in her mind that this might be her last time here. She wished she could just sit in the chair and read or watch her father at his computer, instead of making such a huge decision about her future. She swallowed to try to ease the tightness, then glanced inside the partially opened library door.

      She saw her father sitting behind his desk, as always. He was hunched forward, white shirtsleeves rolled up, and the eerie bluish cast from one of his computer monitors bathed his features in its pale glow. The only other light came from a low desk light. Even so, she could see the way her father was working his jaw, and the intent frown that drew his dark eyebrows together. He seemed totally involved in what he was reading on the screen, and she thought he didn’t know she was there. Then he released a low hiss of air and slowly swiveled his chair toward her.

      He was absolutely still for a moment, and then he stood awkwardly as if his legs were stiff. Without a word, he crossed the room to meet her near the open door. She took a shaky breath as he came closer, inhaling the mingled scents of the fire blazing in the fireplace and the hint of pine in the air.

      A two-foot-tall live Christmas tree stood by one of the windows against burgundy velvet drapes that had never been closed until recently. The tree looked pathetic. It made her wish she hadn’t insisted on getting it. She foolishly had thought that it would help them to not totally ignore Christmas this year. But since it was the only Christmas decoration in the house, its puny presence only magnified how far they’d fallen from a normal life.

      “Faith,” her father said in a quiet voice as he caught her in a hug that was so tight she could barely take a breath. But she savored it, storing it up in her memory to grab when she would need it. He finally released her, smiling at her, but the expression didn’t reach his intent blue eyes. “I didn’t think you were going to come back here for a while.”

      At five feet ten inches, he wasn’t an unusually tall man and his frame had always been trim from playing squash or from running. But to Faith he had always seemed like a giant. After her mother had died when Faith was four, he’d been her security, a man who could fix her world with the wave of a hand; her rock, the one person she trusted completely; and most of all, her dad.

      Now that was all changing before her eyes. He was diminishing, as if the pressures of his life over the past four months were crushing him downward slowly and painfully. His once lightly graying hair was just as thick, but the color was now pure white. The lines etching his eyes and mouth had deepened considerably, and any tan he’d had, had faded away, leaving his skin almost ashen.

      Faith had never doubted that her father could conquer the world, yet here he was fighting for his life. She felt that sense of loss completely and refused to make things worse for him.

      She skimmed off her woolen cap. “Those vultures out front are not as good as they think they are,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “And neither is that guard. I went right past all of them, even one of the protesters, and none of them even blinked.”

      Any trace of a smile on her dad’s face was gone as he uttered, “You cut your hair.” He turned away from her and went to his desk. He dropped heavily into his leather chair and swiveled back and forth until his gaze met hers. She could see pain and sadness in his expression and it was almost her undoing. “Did you get subpoenaed?” he asked flatly.

      “No, I haven’t.” She claimed a leather chair across from him. “I haven’t heard anything, but Baron is on his way over here,” she said quickly. “I would have called to let you know, but...” She shrugged nervously as she tugged off her gloves and pushed them into her jacket pockets. Baron Little, the head of her father’s legal team, had insisted on meeting with her, and she thought she knew why. What he had to say probably wasn’t good. “I was afraid someone СКАЧАТЬ